


Life after Death

by Kresnik



Category: Bleach
Genre: Drabble Collection, Gen, Ichigo Dies, Non-Canon after Chapter 423, Probably ooc, but there is kind of a story to it now, soul society - Freeform, this is supposed to be drabbles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-19 21:53:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5982100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kresnik/pseuds/Kresnik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After losing his shinigami powers, Ichigo dies. </p><p>Thus begins his new life... In North Rukongai 66.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Reiryoku. The power of the soul._

_Reiatsu, which is manifested by using that so called power of the soul._

It's one of things he can remember her telling him, back 'then'. The drawings she used to show him were so funny.

He winces, rubbing the back of his head in a remembered pain. She had a fierce kick on her, that one.

He recalls how she would sit, perched with all the grace of nobility, eating sandwiches. Delighting especially in the ones with cucumber or eggs. The way she'd smile fondly at him from time to time, when she thought he wasn't watching. Now if only he could remember her name!

He knows a lot of things about her, but that one thing still evades him.

He lets out a sigh, and it's not for the first time. It's not as if he cares, honestly. Not really. It's just that she is one of the strongest memories of his time being alive that he has left.

In fact, one of the only ones he has. Her eyes, filled with tears. A swift kick to the solar plexus. Clothes torn, covered in blood, so much blood.

He shakes his head vigorously. There are good and bad memories. And sometimes he wishes the bad would just disappear. A flash of orange hair. A woman collapsed on the ground, blood pooling around her.

The words of his small 'soul family' trickle back to him. The memories of your past life are precious, no matter what they are. Although because of them, he knows one thing for certain.

He will never meet her. Because she is a Shinigami, and he is a mere wandering soul.

 

_A dog of Rukongai._


	2. Afterlife

When he first came to Soul Society, he was confused. His mind was in a jumble. He couldn't speak, or hear, or touch. He'd stared wide-eyed up at the sky, the blue blue sky, mind void of any thought whatsoever.

Then slowly, the realization had come-- and from where he didn't even know, but it was everywhere in his mind-- he was dead. 

And yet, he still breathed. He could hear the wind, feel the grass beneath his fingers. In the distance, the sound of chatter from children.

 _Soul Society._ The name slid into his thoughts, familiar and yet he'd never heard it before. A whimsical smile danced before his eyes, before vanishing. _Thank you--_

 _This is the afterlife, then._ He'd thought.

As he claws his way to sitting and drags himself up to standing, he smiles up at the too-blue sky and heads for the nearest town on unsteady legs.

_Here's hoping the afterlife will be a good life._

.

.

.

North Rukongai Sixty-Six was an utter slum, filled with decrepit and decaying souls that had not a speck of hope amongst them.


	3. No paradise

 

After taking his first step into the area, he had paused to look around the area curiously, when a group of foul smelling thugs had surrounded him. It didn't take brains to figure out what they wanted, but with so many of them, fighting back was decidedly foolish. 

He wasn't sure why he did try to fight them off, but he did. Fists swinging wildly, legs tangling in themselves, he tripped over before they even landed a single punch.

They laughed rancorously and quickly divested him of his clothes and shoes. He was kicked, punched, spat on, and they were even going to steal his underwear, were it not for the disgusted sneer of one of the gang. They kicked him a few more times, and after a few muttered threats, they left.

It was from this experience he realised that North Rukongai Sixty-Six wasn't a nice place, and that the afterlife was probably going to  _fucking suck._

Time passed as he lay there in the streets, battered and in pain, baking in the sun. Someone walked up to him, their shadow blocking out the brightness. He opened his eyes to see who had bothered to check on him, when a bundle of fabric was unceremoniously thrown on top of him.

He shot up, tender muscles and bruises complaining at the sudden motion. Looking at the fabric in his lap, he noticed it was a pair of dusty grey hakama and matching obi belt. He looked up, to thank whoever had given him this... But there wasn't anyone around. No-one spared him anything more than a passing glance.

Standing slowly with a wince, and carefully pulling on the pants, he thought to himself that maybe Rukongai wasn't such a bad place after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was just supposed to be short, 100~ word drabbles about the whole "what if ichigo died" idea... Instead it's like 900 ords. And there's even more being written as I type. I'm not a multi-chapter writing author! Just look at all the unfinished stories in 'my works'. It never ends well!
> 
> Well, hope you can enjoy this nonsense anyway.


	4. Rukongai 6-6

He isn't sure how long he's been in this town now. North Rukongai Six-Six. Or, as the locals have dubbed it, "The Dune". It's because there is sand  _everywhere_. Sand in his mouth, sand in his fundoshi, sand in places he doesn't even care to mention. At first, his feet were rubbed raw to the point of blisters and being painful to touch. He'd walk down the street and leave a trail of bloody footprints in his wake. But slowly, calluses had begun to form on his feet.

His back was a mess of sunburn and peeling, flaky skin, pale complexion withering under the unceasing heat of the sun bearing down. His shoulders and feet twinged with each step, but he had slowly grown used to it.

.

.

After arriving in 66, being robbed and then taken pity on, he hadn't known quite what to do with himself.

He wasn't sure what people even _did_ in the afterlife! Do they work? For money? He isn't quite sure why they would work, though. After all, nobody here seemed to ever eat anything. He didn't, either. And so what was the point of working?

This left him with a lot of unused time on his hands.

...So, he ended up people watching. He'd find and out-of-the-way corner somewhere, brushing away built up sand and slumping down in it, observing the people going on their day-to-day business.

The first thing he noticed was the feet. You could tell who lived here and how long they'd been here from the way their feet looked. If they were bleeding, like his, they were definitely new to the area. Otherwise, they'd been here a while. Then, there were those that wore shoes. These people either weren't from around here, or they had stolen the shoes of someone else. He thought back to his first day in this place, and grit his teeth.

Innocent, helpless souls like himself, who arrived in this place without a clue of what was happening around them. Quickly attacked and robbed of their possessions.

He curled up. hugging his legs to his chest. He'd never found out about the person that had 'donated' these pants he wore, but they had become torn and ragged over the time he'd been here. He turned to stare up at the sky.  _The too-blue sky_. That vivid blue was almost nostalgic, somehow. But as time wore on and the days passed, it seemed to get a bit more grey.

.

.

One day, another day of sitting, dozing, and watching people and the sky, he saw something he hadn't seen before.  _A caravan._

He blinked, sitting up straight. There was an old, greying man instructing a group of younger looking men. They were all wearing clothes a great deal fancier than any he'd ever seen around here before. He wondered what they were doing here, in this dirty hovel of a town.

Their purpose became apparent however as a few of them began unloading some boxes, heading for one of the rundown shacks that functioned as a shop in this place. For whatever reason, there were many teahouses here, despite the fact that nobody ate anything... He found it completely mind boggling.

If they were smart though, these merchants would leave this town as quickly as possible, before they attracted the wrong kind of attention. He sighed and settled in his corner, when it struck him.

There people were going to  _leave_. They were going to leave this town and go _somewhere else_. He blinked rapidly. If they were going to leave, maybe they'd take  _him_ , too?

He stumbled to his feet and ran off to where the merchants went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some kind of coherent story right now I GUESS but I wouldn't get my hopes up, it'll probably be back to silly drabbles next time anyway.


	5. Hit the road, Jack, and don't you come back!

In hindsight, he probably should've figured that this would happen, but reality isn't as kind as that.

He'd ran towards the caravan with the merchants, the intent being to ask to go with them on their travels to any-fucking-where. Unfortunately, he didn't even get to ask. Apparently a dirty, seemingly crazed shirtless man running towards them was threatening. They'd all drawn weapons-- Thankfully of the non-lethal kind-- and surrounded him in a clearly practiced maneuver. Then they proceeded to beat the everlasting  _shit_ out of him.

By now, he was used to people beating the crap out of him. In the Dunes, it was practically a given that the weak and unarmed people would be shoved around by those who had the strength to bully what they wanted out of people.

It still stung though, as he slunk away under the watchful eye of the guards. People were the same everywhere, it seemed. He'd been so  _stupid_ to think otherwise. He went down a side alley and slumped down against a wall, hiding his face in his knees. This was ok. Just hiding here. Avoiding contact with people as much as he could.

So much for a pleasant afterlife.

 _"Don't give up yet._ "

A voice seemed to echo all around in the darkness, and his head shot up so hard it hurt.  _That voice--_ _!_ He knew it from somewhere! ...But, where? He looked around warily up and down the narrow street he was in, but there wasn't anyone here, not even a stray cat. He frowned.  _Is this how it goes? Am I going to go insane, now?!_

Even so, the words, and the voice, struck some kind of chord within him. A strange, bubbling feeling in his chest. Why?  _Why stay here?_ He clenched his fists, nails digging in almost to the point of bleeding.

Nothing would  _ever_ change if he didn't try! He shot to his feet, almost getting whiplash from it.  _I don't need some shitty merchants to take me outta here! I can leave on my own two feet!_ He stumbled out of the alley way and quickly found himself on the outskirts of town.

He left without looking back.

It felt like somewhere, someone was smiling at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must be on a roll or something. That my drink is laced with drugs. Hmm
> 
> I used some song lyrics for the chapter title this time... Thought it was kinda fitting.
> 
> Ichigo is getting more and more OOC... Though having literally no memories would do that to a guy.. I guess...?


	6. In search of new lands

In hindsight, perhaps leaving town without a single plan or other thought was a bit foolish. But, at the time, he couldn’t help it! Just taking that first step felt so liberating. Like a breath of fresh air after being starved for so long.

As he walked down the rough path, he looked out at the scenery in almost wonder. After walking mindlessly for over a week, he’d begun to notice the surroundings gradually change.

What had previously been vast, empty fields and patches of desert had become more filled with life than before. The grass had become greener, and there were trees and other plants filling out the area.

In the distance, he’d even spotted the occasional house. But from his experience in the Sixty-Sixth, he knew better than to approach them. People weren’t exactly… _friendly_ around there. As long as he left them alone, they wouldn’t bother him either… He _hoped_ , anyway.

On occasion, there would be someone else travelling down the path he’d found himself on. Whenever he’d see a figure in the distance, he’d stop and look warily. As they saw him, they’d pause too, and watch in suspicion for a minute, before continuing along the path.

When they crossed each other, they would be a wide berth between them. No-one seemed to be interested in a fight or speaking to anyone else around here.

On his twenty seventh or twenty eighth day of walking --he’d counted each day carefully, though he thinks he may have miscounted one-- the road he was walking through had been quite surrounded by trees. The light was quite dim, and the ground was covered in fallen leaves. The change was quite refreshing in comparison to the unending burn of the sun. He scratched an itch on his shoulder and grimaced when his fingernails came back filled with dead skin.

Since he’d escaped from the sun, his back and shoulders had slowly been recovering from the sunburn that never quite went away despite how long he’d had it. He figured that his light complexion wasn’t well suited for the sun, really.

Unfortunately, this healing process left him with a foul itch and enough flaking, peeling muck he could open a shop and sell it. All he’d need would be someone deranged enough to buy it.

He was going through the possible logistics of such a thing --Would it be called a Skin Shop?--  When his train of thought was, perhaps fortunately, broken by a series of voices from further up the path.

The sound of the somewhat young sounding voices travelled down the path and down to him, as he paused by a nearby tree. They didn’t sound particularly friendly, and he wasn’t all that keen in getting in a fight. One thing he’d learned was that sometimes, you need to keep your head down. Otherwise, you’ll end up dead or worse.

With that in mind, he cautiously headed down the path towards them, trying to make as little sound as possible. However, when he got to where they were, it became apparent that they weren’t paying any attention to anything, anyway.

His first thought was that the three of them were playing some kind of game. But he quickly realised it was anything but.

The two older teens were hunched a younger boy, who was cowering on the ground. The taller boy, covered in freckles with cropped blond hair, muttered something he couldn’t hear from here, and their brown haired victim flinched. The other, black-haired boy sniggered at this, amusement coloring his features.

It was an inexplicable feeling, but his blood was _boiling._ Before he even realised what was happening, he’d charged out from his hiding spot and slugged the tall one right in the nose.

From there, it was chaos. The blond boy toppled over with a pained sound, falling on top of his victim who yelped and tried --failing-- to backpedal away. The black-haired boy shrieked at the sight of their attacker, shouting something that sounded like “Get away, hollow!” and started to run off the path and into the forest. He ended up stumbling in his haste to get away.

With a shout, the freckled boy screamed at his partner, “Don’t you bloody well leave me here with that monster! You bastard, Bobby!” and quickly scrambled after him, shooting a fearful look over his shoulder as he went.

He supposed he must have looked quite intimidating, what with his matted, vibrant orange hair and filthy, haggard appearance. He turned to the only remaining boy, who widened his fearfully eyes in response. “Never had anyone run in terror before, ahaha.”

He scratched his back of his head a bit as he laughed awkwardly. “Anyway, uh, are you ok?” He’d never really spoken to people much before and his lack of social ability was painful. However, something he said must have reassured the brown haired boy, because he slowly stood up and began to approach him, though remaining at a slight distance.

“You… You’re not a Hollow?” Brown Boy said rather carefully, as if measuring his words, then waited, watchful and alert, for a reaction.

He blinked at the word. “Uh, no?” he replied with a frown, almost offended by the accusation. “What does a hollow even look like?” He’d heard of the vicious monsters before. From the tales he’d heard muttered in darkness or ranted loudly by the zealous, they were gigantic monsters that killed people. He wondered if he really looked so bad as if to be confused for one, and frowned.

The other boy gave him an almost dubious look. “W-well I don’t know, but my brother told me about them! They _eat_ people!” he wrung his hands almost anxiously at the thought.

To this he replied annoyed, “Well, I _don’t_ eat people! Or anything at all, for that matter!” He didn’t even know what was so good about food. Not that he really cared, since he didn’t need to eat in the first place anyway.

The boy winced. “I’m sorry-- That was rude! Thank you for helping me before!” he bowed his head in both apology and gratitude, posture stiff.

That was surprising. He hadn’t expected a ‘thank you’… Let alone an apology as well. He rubbed the back of his neck, a bit embarrassed by that. “What happened back there, anyway?” he changed the subject.

Brown blinked, before slowly rising. “Well, my brother is a…” He bit his lip. “A Shinigami. And those guys don’t like Shinigami, so…” he trailed off, shrugging. Seemingly worried that _he_ didn’t like Shinigami, either.

He’d heard of them. “Those are the guys that fight _hollows_ , right?” he wasn’t sure what he thought of them. He’d never seen one, though there had been all kinds of rumours and insults spat out about them. Now, he wondered just how much of that was true.

The boys brown eyes lit up. “Yeah! My brother is in the fourth squad, though, so he doesn’t fight them.” At the blank look he elaborated, “There are thirteen squads; each has a different _speciality_ , so to say. The fourth squad is dedicated to healing and supporting their allies!” He grinned as he talked about his brother and the shinigami, the gleam in his eyes made it obvious how much he admired both.

There was one thing he was still wondering about, however. “Why did you think I was a hollow, though?” he asked, and the other boy went a little red, embarrassed.

Scratching his chin a little, he answered, “Well, you’re a bit… Strange looking…” At the expectant look, he continued, “Um, your hair for a start… I’ve never seen hair that color before!” he tugged at one of his own brown locks for emphasis, “And, and, you’re covered in dirt and muck...!” he began to ramble a bit, until the other raised a hand to stop him.

“Hey, thanks so much for the compliments.” He chuckled when the other looked to be apologising again, smiling and shaking his head in a silent message— _no offence taken!_ — and the boy smiled in response, as if relieved.

He’d never really put much thought into his appearance. He never spoke to anyone and no-one had seemed that interested in him, either. _Though maybe this is why,_ he thought a bit sheepishly.

Brown trailed into a thoughtful silence, before he came up with an idea. “Hey, there’s a river near here. You could wash some of the dirt off, maybe?” After receiving a nod, he pointed further down the path. “It’s not too far down this way. There’s a shallow spot that would be perfect.”

And with that, they headed down the rough path through the forest. They relaxed a little, but they were still somewhat wary of each other. The walk was filled with one-sided conversation, the brown haired one talking about the _Shinigami_ and his hometown, while the other soaked it in, unused to so much conversation.

When he spotted the first glimpse of the riverbank, he stood and simply stared. He wasn’t sure why, but something about it sent unpleasant chills down the back of his neck. As if waiting for something, he had an oppressive sense of foreboding.

With a nudge by the other boy though, he moved closer to the river, somewhat apprehensively. Looking into the water however, he froze in wonder, forgetting his previous uncertainty.

It was _his face_. Back in six-six, he’d never had any opportunities to see it. Not any water around, at least not for him to see, and no there wasn’t any glass, either.

He looked at it in amazement. The eyes, the lips, the cheeks. The outline of his jaw. It was utterly strange and foreign to him, and yet somehow entirely familiar. He frowned, and the brows knit together in a worried expression.

It was wonderful, and incredible, seeing his face for the first time, but it made him realise something. “My face is filthy. _I’m_ filthy.” He sniffed at a hand and grimaced. He’d never really thought about it before, but… _Gross_. There was a laugh somewhere to his left, but he ignored it in favor of getting clean.

He reached into the water, starting at how cold it was, and splashed some on his face, scrubbing at the dirt and muck until the reflection in the water was as clean as he could get it. The eyes staring back at him almost seemed to sparkle.

Despite being distorted by the countless ripples of the water, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. _This is me. This is who I am!_

The person at his side chuckled lightly, breaking his thoughts. “You know, I never got your name. I’m Shintarou.” He offered his hand out to shake it.

He blinked, turning to face Shintarou. _His name?_ No-one had ever asked that before. And he didn’t seem to know the answer, either. He’d never _needed_ a name either, since he didn’t speak much to anyone.

As he was thinking what to reply, a feminine voice echoed in the back of his head, a pair of black eyes filled with sadness flooding his vision.

 _“Thank you, Ichigo._ ”

He wasn’t sure who she was, but as he reached out and took the hand to shake it, somewhere deep inside he knew.

 “Nice to meet you. I’m Ichigo.”

_That is my name._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He knows his name now. He will slowly begin to remember some more things too~
> 
> This chapter is so long... (for me)


End file.
